


i held onto you with a desperate strength

by milenajesenskas



Category: Slings & Arrows
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:43:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milenajesenskas/pseuds/milenajesenskas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“tell me you’re not picking the locks on the security doors. they have those on there for people like you, i hope you know.”</p>
<p>“i can show you how, if you want.”</p>
<p>the look on darren’s face was all the encouragement he ever needed, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i held onto you with a desperate strength

"i am a director, geoffrey. i am not an actor. i will not be reduced to being one of your little playthings."  
  
"yes, well, that's wonderful, darren. but since you did volunteer-"  
  
" _i_  did not volunteer. if you recall, i was lured in with the promise of that expensive parisian wine that was at that museum opening. at least two full bottles, which i have yet to receive. i might up that to three for my pain and suffering."  
  
"since you were  _persuaded_  to help me out with my severe lack of willing actors, i do need you to actually stand in your light. you know what, anywhere near your light would be great. just manage to get within five feet of your light, and i'd be happy."  
  
"it's just a rep plot. it's not going to matter where i stand."  
  
" _darren_."  
  
" _fine_. i'll stand in your silly light. you are absolutely destroying my character work, i hope you know that."  
  
"that's alright. i can't afford the wine either."  
  
"i know."  
  
-  
  
it's 1986, and geoffrey's taken to sleeping in the university's green room again. there are notebooks and loose papers scattered around the couch, and the chairs have been turned into tables or doorstops, depending. he's stayed there every night for the past two weeks, but no one's said anything yet. darren jokes that everyone's too afraid to tell him to leave. they've both quietly accepted that it's probably true.   
  
"you have a room, don't you? or did they finally take that away?"  
  
"i can't work there. there's more room here anyway, and i can go over to the theatres if i need to."  
  
"tell me you're not picking the locks on the security doors. they have those on there for people like you, i hope you know."  
  
"i can show you how, if you want."  
  
the look on darren's face was all the encouragement he ever needed, anyway.  
  
-  
  
there are bite marks on his collarbone and ink under his nails, and if geoffrey hasn't slept in a day or two, you wouldn't know it by watching him. he paces up and down the aisles and kicks his way around the tongue of the thrust, but he still can't find the idea he wants.  
  
it's another two hours before darren pulls him back into the green room, and gives him more teeth-mark bruises on his neck and chest to match. this was definitely wrecking his creative process. or helping it. he wasn't sure yet. he did know that he'd be wearing a sloppily-buttoned shirt tomorrow. the look on darren's face, and so on.  
  
-  
  
it's three in the morning, and they managed to stumble back to darren's room. they fall across the bed as soon as they both reach it, and darren laughs to a quiet room. "i can't believe they actually let them stage that utter shit." he tosses his glasses on the floor and rubs his eyes, the amount of alcohol in his system finally catching up with him. he laughs again, and keeps laughing. "that was the worst play i think i've ever seen."  
  
"i don't think i can do this."  
  
"what is it now?"  
  
"this. directing. i can't be that... terrible. i just can't."  
  
"this wasn't your show."  
  
"but i'm going to have shows that are this bad. i'm going to have shows that are worse. darren, i don't think i can do this. what if i can't? what if-"  
  
there are hands holding his wrists now, keeping them pressed into the sheets. there's a heat on his lips, familiar and sharp, and fingers digging into his skin. darren pauses for a moment, with something more than a smirk on his face. "you, as always, have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, darling."  
  
there's a hand in his hair, and the taste of blood in his mouth, and for once, geoffrey doesn't say anything back.

**Author's Note:**

> posting old fic from ficathons from my tumblr/livejournal
> 
> title is from "game shows touch our lives" by the mountain goats


End file.
